


Watch the Queen Conquer

by buckyno



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Arthur is a dick, BAMF Eggsy, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, SO MUCH TEA, Slow Burn, Spy Shenanigans, assassinations, butchering Arthurian legend, excalibur!eggsy, harry is smitten, hartwin in different spy organizations, he still has a heart of gold and still wouldn’t pass the dog test honestly, it’s more a perception thing, long suffering merlin, sort of dark eggsy but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyno/pseuds/buckyno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who the hell are the Queensman?  What do they want with the Kingsman? Why is Arthur so shady?  Why can’t Merlin get a decent night’s sleep? Eggsy could probably answer all of those questions if he weren’t busy sniping people from rooftops, apparently sabotaging the Kingsman for his own secret agency.  Harry, like Jon Snow, knows nothing.</p><p>(on hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> : This was supposed to be a short one-shot but I accidentally plotted out a long ass fic. Oops. So , yes, here’s chapter one of only gods know how many. Let me know what ya think, pls? Also I imagine Tom Hardy as Mordred because I am so damned thirsty for Legend and Julie Andrews as the Lady because I would probably kill a man if she asked me to.

 1

 

After years of suffering through the experience, Harry found charity balls to be mostly the same.  More money was involved sometimes but everything else from the fine champagne to the French linen tablecloths were all essentially carbon copies of the other.  As a Kingsman, Harry probably attended more than his fair share and thus his blossoming irritation had turned to out-and-out disdain.  Wealthy people begging for more money in the guise of an elitist party for a random cause that was hardly ever actually getting the funds—it was all very distasteful but not a soul there with him could read that on Harry’s face.  Except for maybe one soul who didn’t even need to see his face to know his thoughts on the matter.

“Are you going to get on with it, or are you going to raise your lip at everything that moves all night?”  Merlin’s Scottish brogue rumbled in Harry’s ear, half amused and half exasperated.

“I’m approaching the target this very moment.  Please stop your nagging, Mother.”  Harry replies discretely, the comment earns him a scoff and a little bit of annoying static feedback from his comms that he was sure Merlin would claim was completely accidental later.

Harry slips through the crowd with graceful ease.  The ball is a black tie affair and Harry blends in seamlessly with the aristocratic class around him however his target stands out.  The man was a special guess of the duchess throwing the ball, his name was Alfred Kerr.  Kerr was multi-degree holding microbiologist only there to appease the duchess who was one of his university’s largest benefactors.  He was rocking the fish out of water look in an ill-fitting charcoal suite Harry would bet money came out of a warehouse.  Not that Harry was a snob about clothing but he did believe a man should wear the suit not the other way around.  Harry wasn’t sure why he had to abduct the awkward little fish, when he’s asked Merlin he’d told him Arthur said it was “need to know” in a tone that meant Merlin hadn’t needed to know either which of course irked the hell out of both of them.  Particularly Merlin whose job implied needing to know everything, information was required to keep his agents safe and any instance when he did not have all the facts inherently meant his agent on point was that much more in danger.  Harry, being the agent on point on this mission, was not very worried.  He trusted Merlin to make due and he trusted Arthur.

Drawing nearer to Kerr, Harry quickly planned his next moves.  The motions were easy:  persuade the target to have a private conversation by any means necessary and then proceed to discretely stab them in the neck with a knock-out dart to interrogate about his latest work at a later more convenient time.  Usually in a deserted warehouse with poor lighting which might be cliché but was quite effective as a scare tactic.  Honestly this mission couldn’t be any simpler, Harry had done a thousand like this and would likely do a thousand more.  It wasn’t complacency, it was just another bloody Tuesday as Harry had been concerned so when a high velocity bullet went through Kerr’s head splattering blood and brains all over the duchess he’d been standing by Harry can’t help the “What the fuck?” that slips out his mouth. He believed Merlin should cut him some slack for being a bit surprised.  Only Merlin wasn’t answering him.

He doesn’t bother trying his comms again rather he whips around assessing where the shot must have come from.  There’s a skylight above them and Harry can see a shadow move away from a neatly cut hole in the glass.  The room is in a panic with most people trying to run to the doors all at once while a few stood there incoherently screaming.  Harry does a damned good job of navigating through them to get to the fire exit without breaking any of their bones.  He takes the stairs all the way up to the roof as fast as he can and the closer Harry gets a steady static grows louder and louder in his ear.  Harry figures it was some type of jamming signal, a sophisticated one too if the sniper was able to cut him off from Merlin.  Sophisticated, bordering on damn near impossible.

Harry took steps three at a time in long leaps and is on the roof of the hotel in less than thirty seconds.   The night was still fairly young but the moon was bright enough to provide some natural light.  He’d half  expected the sniper to be gone already but that’s not what happened.  The sniper stood on the ledge of the roof with his back to Harry.  Harry surmised he was most likely male, a tailor’s eye, from the lines of his fitted black tactical gear the sniper wore.  The sniper had a sort of black cloth wrapped around the lower half of his face acting like a mask, leaving his dark blonde hair to sway slightly in the wind.  Harry drew his gun, cocked it, as he did the sniper turned unsurprised.  Harry could tell that he was young.  The sniper’s eyes were, of all things, amused, blue-green eyes shined giddily in the dark and his sharp arched eyebrows waggled playfully at him.  Completely unafraid.

“Identify yourself, sir.”  Harry ordered primly though people never _ever_ identified themselves but protocol was protocol.

The sniper turned around fully, he makes no move for the high-powered rifle strapped to his back but he doesn’t say a word either.  Harry could just shoot him now, sort it out later, but there is something in those eyes that makes him not want to not do that.  The sniper starts to inch backwards to the ledge where it drops off ten floors and Harry falters, “Wait—”

But it’s too late.  The sniper wiggles his fingers in a wave goodbye, the cheeky bastard, and falls backward like he doesn’t have a care in the world.  Harry rushes forward and catches sight of the sniper landing in a roll on a neighboring building’s roof that had been at least a twelve foot fall down and then never losing momentum he leaps from that building to another’s window ledge balancing himself perfectly in the dark.  From there the sniper jumps to a street light, catching where it overhangs handle-bar style and slides down it like a damned fire pole before landing deftly on his feet like he weighed nothing.  The sniper looks back at an honestly impressed Harry and flashes him a quick peace sign before disappearing into the shadows of the back alleys of London.

As soon as the sniper is out of sight Merlin explodes in his ear mid-colorful string of swears making Harry wince, “Come in, Merlin.”

“Good God, Galahad.  What the hell happened out there.  The police are incoming on your position as we speak.”

Harry sighs and smooths his jacket, “I’m surprised you’re not asking why _I_ shot him.”

Merlin scoffs, “I trust you to have a bit more control than that Galahad.”

“Thank you.”  Harry starts making his way out of the building much more conservatively than his sniper friend, “But I’m afraid we have a new player.”

“You didn’t apprehend him.”  Merlin states, clearly seeing through Harry’s glasses that he is in fact alone.  “Today is full of surprises.”

“The shooter was…skilled.”  Harry takes a fire escape on the other side of the third floor the rest of the way down avoiding the crowd and police.  He manages it without getting a speck of rust on his suit, _that_ was skill Harry thought a little indignantly.

“Evidently.”

“Do shut up, Merlin.”

Arthur, of course, is not happy with that evening’s turn of events.  The old man was livid and wasted no time interrogating his Galahad in a brusque manner that barely concealed his contempt for the knight.  Arthur and Harry had always been perfectly amicable toward each other and Harry always afforded Arthur the respect his position deserved, however, it was not a secret around the table that the two didn’t much care for the other as people.  Harry was a bit of a low-key rule breaker, he believed the old ways had their value but should not stop the Kingsman from evolving with the world.  Arthur had a problem with Harry’s particular schools of thought and their silent animosity only grew when seventeen years ago Harry submitted his candidate for Lancelot, a young “common” lad by the name of Lee Unwin.  Unwin had died in the field, Harry had attempted to keep an eye on his remaining family from afar only to one day find his wife and son vanished shortly after Harry had delivered the medal of Valor to them.  Merlin had been searching for him when he had the time, for years, but not even the Kingsman resources could uncover what happened to the Unwins.  Their disappearance haunted Harry every day, Lee had after all died saving Harry’s life the least he thought he could do was make sure his family had a decent one.  Fate chose not to give him even that.

“I expect your full written report on this matter within the hour, Galahad.”  Arthur says from the head of the table.  The high backed chair he sits in makes him look smaller, the opposite of the image Arthur is trying to project, “Also tell Merlin the failure of communications this night was fully his responsibility and that too I expect to never happen again, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, off with you.”  Arthur dismisses him.

Merlin is waiting for Harry right outside the door, tablet in hand, looking not at all repentant though there is a curious gleam in his dark eyes.  Excitement at a new challenge maybe, Merlin was a bit mad at times but then again so was Harry.

“The video feed in your glasses came back on line before audio did, seems we caught a few seconds of your little friend from the street.”  Merlin turns the tablet around for him and plays the clip of the shooter flashing the peace sign and turning jauntily on his heel into the darkness.  “Cheeky fucker isn’t he?”

Harry nodded in agreement.  The video was just a few seconds but it was more than they had a moment ago, Harry paused the video.  The light from the street lamp gave the shooter’s hair an orange glow like a halo; unfortunately the few features the cloth mask didn’t cover were obscured by shadow and too far away to make much of.  He looked like some dark avenging angel come to raise hell, Harry got the awful feeling they hadn’t seen the last of him either.

Across the city, almost perfectly parallel to Saville Row sat a charming tea house from the late 1800’s.  They sold high-end loose leaf teas from all over the world but specialized in pure and proper Earl Grey.  The style of the shop was reminiscent of romanticized Victorian with modern conveniences such as Wi-Fi for those who chose to drink their tea there in the comfortable sitting area of the front parlor.  Not the kind of posh establishment Eggsy fucking Unwin would ever thought he would work at.  Well, part-time anyway.

He used an elaborate scrolled-tipped key for the front door, past the lacey tablecloths and rows of open wooden cases showing off the spicy-smelling goods was another door opposite the counter behind a wall that required the use of a much more high tech encrypted key card along with a retinal scan.  Eggsy had worked there for going on three years as a full time agent slash tea-boy and the rush of sheer _cool_ never left him because that was some James Bond shit right there.  The wooden door slid open instead of swinging to reveal a brightly lit metal lift.  Eggsy slid his rifle from his shoulder and relaxed against the cool metal as the lift went down, down, down.  He was good at wetwork, he had to be considering his Title, but that didn’t mean blowing some poor sod’s head off on the word of one woman made him feel good per say.  He did feel the completion of a job well-done.  Mostly well-done Eggsy remembers with a grin.

Eggsy is still grinning impishly when the doors ding open and he’s faced with a very unimpressed Mordred looking tall and gentlemanly in a suit anyone out of the Kingsman would be envious of.  Except they weren’t Kingsman, were they?

“Was all that fuckery really necessary, Excalibur?”  Despite Mordred’s looks his edges were nearly as rough as Eggsy’s and despite the current glare he was supporting toward Eggsy his admonishments were purely out of protectiveness.  Not that Mordred would ever, ever, admit that.  He takes Eggsy’s rifle for him, checking the safety and everything as if Eggsy wasn’t a goddamned professional.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about bruv, there was no fuckery!”  Eggsy defends in the most incredulously offended voice he has.  It has zero effect on Mordred.

“Really, because I was standing behind Morgan while she was ready to talk you away from the situation and instead you fuckin’ waited ‘til Galahad himself was right fuckin’ _there_.  Why?  So you could make a show of yourself jumping off a fuckin’ roof you utter cock?”

“Oi, no need for all the aggressiveness, _Mordy_ …It did look cool though didn’t it?”  Eggsy’s smile never faltered.  Lesser men had crumbled through the sheer force of that smile that seemed to summon pure sunshine, Mordred was no lesser man but…

Eventually Mordred sighed and let his shoulders sag, “Yeah.  It did.  Morgan hacked Galahad’s bloody glasses and saved the feed before she gave the signal back.  And before ye run off to the tech lab so she give you copy in slow motion the Lady wants to see you first.”

Eggsy smile finally wanes, “Am I in trouble?”

Mordred smirks, “Better hurry it along, Excalibur, won’t do to keep the Lady waiting.”

“…Yeah alrigh’.”

Mordred doesn’t quite snicker behind his back, but it’s a near thing. 

The Queensman underground base in the city is as much of a fusion as the tea shop that crowns it.  Classical furnishings, technology more than a couple of decades more advanced than anything the common wealth had available to them all around as if as an afterthought.  The shop was several hundred feet above them, even so the base carried the delicate scent of freshly brewed tea wherever Eggsy went, it smelled like home.  He rounded a long corridor lined with the faces of regal women, some smiling, some glaring like they wanted to set the on-looker on fire.  Each one had once been the Lady of the Lake, Once Upon a Time and all.  The big double cherry wood doors at the end of the hall belonged to whoever wore the mantle of the Lady currently.  Eggsy was brought into the Queensman by the Lady that had ruled the agency for the past twenty years, even so he never stopped being intimidated by her.  He raps his knuckles on the door politely and waits until he hears, “Come in, Excalibur.” 

The Lady sat behind a monumental desk that should have made her look small a dainty in her old age and stark white hair pinned up tight but somehow she managed to look like a captain at the helm of a ship.  The office walls were lined with leather bound tomes and much of the room’s light came from the roaring fireplace some distance from the desk and chairs.  The Lady waved a hand to a chair in front of her desk.  Eggsy sits with perfect posture, something he hardly ever did when left to his own devices.

“Well done, the mission tonight was a success, I understand.  I expected no less.  Unfortunately we’ve no time to lay about.  Gwenivere has just sent back these.”  The Lady slides a manila folder across the desk toward Eggsy.

He flips it open and can’t stop himself from exclaiming, “Fuckin’ hell, cuttin’ a bloke in half is bit much innit?!”

“Quite so,” The Lady’s face remained impassive, “The man was once Lancelot.  Kingsman own, I’m afraid.  We are lagging behind, Excalibur.”

Eggsy doesn’t linger on the numerous photographs of a man split right down the middle.  Lancelot.  The position his own Father had been supposed to take.  The thought was jarring.

“What do you need me to do, Lady?”

“The sword must come for another man.  Do you accept?”

Eggsy is tired, his shoulder cramps from staying in position for hours and the sprint to the tea shop in the dead of night was no small feat.  None of that matters.  The grin that flashes across Eggsy’s face is absolutely feral, “ Course.  I’ve got nothin’ else better to do.”

The Lady doesn’t smile, her face does do this very subtle twitch that Eggsy has long identified meant she was pleased, “Very good, Excalibur. At first light I want you go here, covertly.”  She slides another piece of paper to him.

In beautiful script Eggsy reads an address, “Who’s this then, Lady?”

“That, is the home of a man named Harry Hart.  You met him earlier tonight, I recall, as you back-flipped off a building?”  Her voice is almost amused.  Almost.

“ _Galahad_?  Fuckin’ hell.”

“You have three hours of night left, Excalibur.  I suggest you get some sleep.”  And that was that.

Eggsy quietly left the office softly shutting the doors behind him.  He stared down the hallway unseeing for a solid minute before taking a deep breath and surging forward.  Excalibur was the sword of the Lady of the Lake, sworn to cut down whoever she saw deserving of the blade.  Just because Harry Hart was the man who gave Eggsy the medal he wore under his shirt didn’t mean anything, fuck all compared to everything the Lady gave him and if Eggsy was anything, he was fucking loyal.  Harry Hart didn’t mean a damned thing to Eggsy Unwin.  So why did he know he wasn’t going to get any sleep that night?

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Merlin stared expressionless at the multiple large screens that surrounded him in the nerve center of Kingsman HQ, their light cast severe shadows across his, what a few might consider and already severe, face.  He was more or less alone in HQ, Merlin might have been the head of his division but the man was always the first to show up and the last to leave but at four in the morning it was pushing it even for Merlin.  The cup of tea he still had grasped in his hand had gone ice cold long ago and would remain undrunk because Lancelot was _dead_.

The death of a Kingsman was a heavy thing.  For starters it was a rather rare event, compared to other organizations of the world there were not many knights (a mere twenty-seven compared to MI6’s hundreds of active agents) who served as field agents and due to this they were trained without equal, a one man army unto themselves.  They did not often die despite their incredibly dangerous professions, almost half the time a Kingsman would retire to a quiet life while another more suitable candidate took their title.  This was why many Kingsman were related to their predecessors, Lancelot’s family had been like that and he had been one of Merlin’s trainees.  Years ago, but that bond never faded.

Merlin had to tell Arthur.  He’d found out an hour ago, Arthur should have known immediately yet Merlin hadn’t moved yet.  He would.  Eventually.  He would call Harry first.

When Arthur was informed he ordered the traditional raising of the parting glass for their fallen brother and spent a whole three minutes on a farewell speech before getting back to business as usual.  Merlin silently observed Harry’s face as Arthur went on. To anyone else he was the picture of gentlemanly serenity, but Merlin was Merlin and he could see the sorrow at losing a good friend there quickly change to irritation then burn bright with vengeance.  When the subject of Professor Arnold came up Harry jumped on it, making it seem like a matter of honor with his recent failure in mind, perhaps it was little bit.  Merlin would put money on Harry simply wanting to find whoever was responsible for Lancelot’s...no it would be _James_ in death, whoever was responsible for his demise.  Merlin was glad, as he could be, that it would be Harry on the mission.  Harry would see it through proper.

Harry approached his new directive like a particularly well-dressed dog with a bone.  Merlin quickly provided a location for Arnold who just appeared at his university after an apparent kidnapping healthy and whole while one of Kingsman’s own was neither.  He was angry, his mood soured further when he realized he was being followed the moment his cab left Saville Row.  Harry hadn’t actually seen anyone, no suspicious bystanders walking down the street nor any cars that were following much too close, no he could _feel_ it and a Kingsman agent’s most valuable tool was instinct.  Instinct could mean the precious split second that separated a man from death, that in mind Harry made himself scarce.  He keeps out of obvious lines of sight and has the cab go in a few round-about paths before finally heading to the university.  The sensation of eyes on him wanes and he doesn’t enter the building until he feels certain he’s not being observed. 

Admittedly, that actually takes some time, enough for Harry to sip tea at a small café on the campus across the street from Professor Arnold’s lecture hall.  Harry doesn’t think he’s going to get sliced in two in front of God and everybody but he’s not going to take unnecessary risks either even though he felt if he still had a tail he would be dead already (or at least an _attempt_ would have been made) if that was what his shadow wanted, mostly his care was only for Merlin’s sake.  Merlin’s mother hen tendencies were in overdrive and Harry did not wish to feed that particular flame…this time around.  Therefore, Harry waits until the Professor’s last lecture is over and chooses to meet the man in his classroom rather than outside which was coincidentally more polite anyway.

Harry maneuvered through exhausted students ready to get the hell back to their dorms or to the nearest pub, some looking a bit more shell-shocked than others.  The last student to leave was a young man who was nothing but a blur of the worst fashion taste Harry had ever seen and perfectly clean white winged trainers nearly ran right into him if it weren’t for Harry’s reflexes allowing him to escape the stampede by a hair.  The boy mutters a quick apology before dashing down the hall.  Harry refrained from making a “kids these days” comment because honestly that would have just made him feel old.  Which he wasn’t, no matter what Percival said the wanker.  Percival probably already had his candidate ready to go for Lancelot’s position.  Harry had no candidate this time, much to Arthur’s satisfaction, he’d not encountered anyone in a long while that was up to Kingsman standard or that the very least had the potential to be.  He didn’t really have the time to look for one either, not with assassins running about every which way.

Harry entered the Arnold’s impressive classroom with his questions in mind and not too worried about the assassins “running around”, he covertly locked the doors behind him.  The Professor was slumped at his desk staring a sheet of paper grasped loosely in his hand.  Harry had a greeting on the tip of his tongue that died there when he quickly realized the Professor was not alive.  Well, that put a spanner in the works. 

Harry approached the body cautiously, “Merlin?”

“Aye, I see it.  To cause that kind of rigidity so fast and the color of the white of his eyes…poison, more than likely.  Extremely effective poison, he must of died in seconds.”

A cursory check of Arnold’s body revealed a small round puncture in the center of one of his palms, the greying flesh around the wound made Merlin and Harry both agree it was the source of the poison.  Someone had shook hands with the man, easy as you please, and left him there to die.  Harry wasn’t all that broke-up about it, he was however getting irked that they were one step behind—again.

“Best not to linger, Galahad.”  Merlin reminded him.  Anyone that wandered in could be taken care of with a bit of amnesia dart but it was always best to avoid those situations all together.

“Let me search the body first, Merlin.  If I can’t talk to the man maybe I—”

The doors of the classroom burst open, were _kicked_ open by a foot clad in white winged trainers.  Harry was confronted with the young man from the hall only now he could see his face.  What a strikingly lovely face it was too: a sharp-lined jaw, panting mouth as if he’d sprinted there, arched eyebrows, and eyes that were familiar in more ways than one.  Too familiar.  It takes all of two seconds for Harry to recognize him, “ _You!_ ”

Eggsy’s eyes widen in surprise because that was damned impressive but he’s not distracted for long, “Run!  Get away from the body!”

Harry, and oh boy does Eggsy really need to stop calling him just “Harry” in his head, regards him suspiciously for a moment but he must have found something in Eggsy’s face because he _is_ running.  Only he isn’t fast enough.  Professor Arnold detonates.  Literally fucking detonates.  Eggsy had seen some _rank_ things in his line of work but that was right up there at the top of the list.  Harry had managed to get away from the worst of the blast though his body is still blown back a few feet and hits his head, knocking him out cold.  Eggsy kicks away debris to get to Harry then slings the older man over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and proceeds to get the fuck out of there before the police and firetrucks show up.  Eggsy desperately tries not to hum “Uptown Funk” on the way out.  He fails.

The glasses on Harry’s face were very close to falling off so Eggsy gently slides them off without a thought and puts them on, Morgan says nothing about it which means he’s probably gonna suffer for his curiosity later.  The glasses activate displaying all kinds of useful tidbits and out loud Eggsy says, “That, is sick.”

“Where’s Galahad?”  A thickly accented voice interrupts Eggsy’s awe.  The glasses are cool sure, but what did the Kingsman agents do when they lost them, or they got destroyed?  Very cool but maybe not very practical, he would tell that to Morgan when he got back and maybe she wouldn’t sabotage his life.

“Oi, no need to be rude.  Merlin, right?  Harry’s fine, got knocked around a bit is all.  And between you and me, bruv, if you keep from informing Arthur for a little while Harry will _stay_ alright.”  Eggsy’s threat is a hollow one.  Anyone he didn’t really know him, a group that was already pathetically small, couldn’t tell that though.

“You seem to know our names but I have yet to get yours.”  Merlin rumbles, he’s stalling, tracking them right now if Eggsy had to guess.

“You can call me OO7.”  Eggsy replies breezily.

There’s a long silence on the other side then Merlin says flatly, “I am not calling you that.”

Eggsy drops Harry outside in an alleyway that was for the most part, clean, which is more than anyone else would have done, “Has anyone ever told you you’re a dream-crusher, Merlin?”

“Cheeky aren’t you?  Do you know who exactly you’re talking to, son?”

Eggsy laughs, “I’ve been accused of worse.  See you around, Merlin.”  He takes off the glasses and puts them back on Harry.  Harry’s eyes flutter, a good sign.  Eggsy grins knowing Merlin can see him, they already saw him so there was no need to be shy about it now, he waves and calmly walks out of the glasses view only to break into a dead sprint once he’s out of sight.  _Appearances_ Mordred would say.

Back at Queensman HQ Eggsy sits (sulks) across from Morgan, the only person who added the “Le Fay” to the end of her name was the Lady.  Morgan’s age wasn’t known, she had the face that could be anywhere between twenty and forty depending on the light.  Under torture Eggsy would forever say twenty.  Morgan cracked her knuckles making Eggsy wince, then tied back her long black hair which was her only tell that let Eggsy know how tired she was.

Morgan always held an uncomfortable amount of eye contact when she spoke but it was softened somewhat by her barely-there French accent, “The signal didn’t last long enough for me to track before the body self-destructed. He must have had an implant.  It’s a shame we couldn’t retrieve it.”  She’s genuinely regretful about it in her own unsettling way.

Eggsy huffed, “I might’ve been able to find out more about it if I was shadowing him instead of Harry bloody Hart.”

“The Lady had her reasons, Excalibur.”  The day’s events were playing behind Morgan’s head on the HUD, it was a little bit distracting plus it made Morgan glow with a blue light that also very, very distracting.

“Yeah, like not trustin’ me? Some messed up loyalty test or somethin’?”

Morgan levels him with a withering look, “You know that’s not true.”

Eggsy ducks his head because he knows she’s right.  He frowns noticing his trainers got scuffed and stained in the explosion. Morgan sees what has his attention and rolls her eyes then adds to the insult by saying none too politely, “You’re just worried about the knight.”

“Am not.”  Eggsy feels his face heating and _hates_ it.

“Are too.”  Morgan retorts in a terrible impression of his accent, “You shouldn’t be, he’s a lot better off than he would have been if you hadn’t gotten there in time.”

He shrugs, “Maybe.  And I don’t see what killin’ the professor did by the way, I mean if Valentine was ready to blow ‘em up like that anytime, anywhere, he must not have been all that vital to the plan.”  The implication that Arnold had already contributed all he was worth went unsaid but understood.

“We didn’t know that was going to happen,” She glared at the footage behind her, “Obviously.  We were just going down the list.  We do know more than we did before so it wasn’t a complete waste.”

“Hell of a way to go about it,” Eggsy mumbled, Morgan hummed her agreement and he looked up at her sheepish as can be.  “…How is he?”

“The bug you planted is functioning perfectly.”  Morgan says deadpan.  She waits a beat before adding, “Also the Kingsman medics are telling him he’s got a concussion  and should stay awake for twenty-four hours as we speak, otherwise he’s perfectly fine, Eggsy.”

“Thanks, Morgan.”

Morgan’s lips twitch upward at the ends a millimeter, “Your welcome.”

“The night is young,” Eggsy grins and for all appearances he’s not worried about a thing, “Got anything else for me?”

“I do.”  Mordred’s voice chimes as he walks in swift and sure yet somehow gave the impression of being respectful of Morgan’s space.  “We have a meeting with the ‘Queen’s knight’…you _are_ changing first.  _Appearances_ , kid.  I thought I burned that jacket.”

“You did.  I bought another one.”  Eggsy is already on his feet, he’s the youngest of their organization and honestly everyone in the building sort of envied his infallible energy, “I get to meet him?”

“Of course considering the personal nature of the affair, and never assume gender.”  Mordred inclined his head in greeting to Morgan who did the same in return.

“So the knight’s a girl?”

“That’s the opposite of what I just said.  But yes, the knight’s a girl.  One of the few Kingsman ever put through the trials.   She’s leagues ahead of all the other candidates put forward, she’s a sure-thing for Lancelot.”  Mordred says.

“Lancelot is and has always been the knight of the Queen.”  Eggsy replies like he’s reciting something he’s read.

“And what belongs to the Queen belongs to the Lady.”  Mordred finishes.

Eggsy adjusts his jacket just to annoy Mordred, “Alrigh’, let’s get on with it then.  What’s her name?”

Morgan answers that for him, “She’s Percival’s candidate, Roxanne Morton.  Apparently, the young woman prefers Roxy.”

“Let’s go meet Roxy then.”  Eggsy says heading for the automatic doors.  Behind his back Mordred and Morgan share a look.  Excalibur and Lancelot together would either be a great thing or a very bad one.

 

tbc

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys this chapter came out a bit shorter than my usual...

Chapter 3

 

Legend went, as much as Eggsy could recall, the Lady of the Lake had powers.  Foresight being among them.  Now Eggsy didn’t believe their Lady could see into the future but he did think she and Morgan and maybe the ever transient Gwenivere knew “things”.  Maybe they just kept their eyes open and were excellent judges of character, they took him in after all based solely on who his father was.  No, who his father was _supposed_ to be.  The Lady had wanted him for Excalibur, the position had actually  gone to a few other people in his family in generations past.  Eggsy didn’t have blue blood but he and his family were anything but common.  Still, the Lady saw potential in a child and she was able to see that Roxy Morton was going to become Lancelot as sure as the sun was going to rise in the morning. 

Maybe it wasn’t that hard seeing why, Mordred gave Eggsy some of the reports Morgan gleaned from the Kingsman data bases about her tests scores paired with meeting her face to face for only five minutes Eggsy came to the conclusion the girl was fucking _brilliant_.  She would have to be for Lancelot, James had done a grand job but he never had to be the double agent Roxy was going to be.  He was never recruited simply because Lancelot was only called on by the Queensman when the time came for the Queensman to fulfill their original purpose.  Thanks to Valentine’s shit that time was now.

Whatever recruitment “speech” the Lady had given her was between Roxy and the Lady.  Actually, now that he thought about it, Eggsy wasn’t completely sure how the recruitment process really went.  He knew he was a special case.  Eggsy was practically raised in the Queensman though they were very hands-off when he was young after they scooped him and his mum up and gave them new identities.  His mum wouldn’t see them leave London, not so soon after her husband’s death.  Queensman resources spent their time erasing every mistake the two made for fifteen years, keeping them off Kingsman radar was a job.  Merlin, he was told, was particularly relentless more than likely under but not totally under Galahad’s insistence.  Which gave him a weird warm feeling Eggsy was quick to shake off whenever it crept up on him.

Although he was always vaguely aware of their presence Eggsy didn’t actually meet any of the Queensman until he was eighteen and Mordred showed up on their flat’s doorstep during a particularly violent row with Dean, his Mum’s newest and worst boyfriend yet.  Mordred took one look at Eggsy’s black eye and bleeding lip and proceeded to break Dean’s jaw.  He dragged Dean out of the flat by the throat without explanation, Eggsy never saw Dean again.  A week later an application to the Marines was inexplicably sent to him, he goes.  Eggsy makes it through training and is in Kuwait when he finds out his Mum had been pregnant and has a new baby sister to meet.  He doesn’t actually get to see her until after she’s born, little Daisy, but his time away from home was well spent climbing the military ranks and making quite the name for himself among the sharp-shooters.  His mum cried a lot but he never gave up.  A few years later Mordred pops up again with one hell of a job opportunity.  He still didn’t get to see his mum and Daisy as much as he’d like but at least now he had the power to make sure people like Dean never came within a mile of them again.

Roxy didn’t have to keep any one person safe, no, Roxy was one of those rare people who wanted to keep the whole world safe and was very logical about how to go about it.  They had their Lancelot.  The three sipped tea in the Queensman tea shop foyer, the only place it was certain Kingsman didn’t have eyes or ears.  Roxy had to travel quite a long way to get there from the Kingsman estate.  They were giving her all her freedoms back now that she had passed their tests and officially gained the title yet being careful was still a must.  Eggsy was sure Merlin was keeping a close eye on all of his people.  He was good bloke like that.

Roxy delivered a stick drive to Mordred detailing her own personal observations within Kingsman, things no amount of data mining on Morgan’s part was going to tell them and she told a curious Eggsy what joining the Kingsman was like.  He absorbed everything, gaining all kinds of new respect for her right up until she told him about the final test.  There Eggsy was unable to keep the sheer horror off his face.

“You shot a dog ta get a fuckin’ _job_!?”  He only barely manages to keep his voice just below yelling volume.  There are only a couple civilian customers peering at the day’s choice selections and they were regulars meaning they were quite used to Eggsy’s…everything.

“God no!” Roxy exclaims just as freaked out about the prospect as Eggsy is, “Archie is fine!  It was a blank…I mean, alright, so I wasn’t supposed to know that going in but I know Percival is so soft and Merlin told us to use all means at our disposal to succeed.  I wasn’t cheating.”  She says the last bit more to herself than anybody but it is no less confident.

Eggsy is visibly relieved and nods along at her insistence she did not in fact cheat, firmly on her side again now that he knew she didn’t shoot her own bloody dog.  Mordred wasn’t particularly surprised, he remembered vividly the night he got a call because Eggsy was in jail.  The boy had wrecked another car avoiding a mangy animal in the road.  Honestly.  The kid had a penchant for picking up strays as well, insisting the tech department was too high-strung therefore  “overstressed people needed puppies” and that “Morgan le Fay was a sorceress and sorceresses needed cats it’s like a law somewhere”.  Most of the wretched creatures were found comfortable and safe homes while a few were actually kept.  Morgan may or may not have had three cats all of which were brought to HQ by their Excalibur, right hand of the Lady indeed.

“But you’ll be careful, yeah?” Eggsy says as they finish the last sips of their tea.  He says it so earnestly Roxy can’t help but to smile at him.

“Of course.  I’m a Queensman.”

 

Harry knew he was quite possibly the worst patient on the planet.  Proof of that was Merlin standing like a sentinel as the Kingsman medic puttered around him making sure he didn’t have brain damage without Merlin’s presence he would have been out of there hours ago, damn him.  He was _fine_.  He was fine because some insolent (gorgeous) little rogue (clever young man) had killed his target then for some reason decided to save Harry’s life.

“I’ve been running facial recognition on the lad since we caught him on your feed.  So wipe that look off your face, its unseemly.” Merlin grumbles without looking up from his clipboard.

“Still no luck then?  I’d expected you to have found his identity seconds after I made him, Merlin.”  He says it just to get under Merlin’s skin.

Merlin positively glowers at him angry because Harry was right.   He should have had the lad’s entire life story by now, but there’s nothing, like he doesn’t even exist.  Obviously Merlin then went through agency channels.  He checked the CIA, MI5, MI6, ODIN, even the fucking KGB to no avail.  It was more than frustrating it was damned impossible.  He’d only been baffled once in his time as Merlin and that was a wholly different situation, still he felt a similar irritable scratching inside his brain as if the answer to all his woes where just on the peripheral of his vision. The sensation was foreign and infuriating.  Merlin, of course, merely cocked an eyebrow at Harry before his attentions fully returned back to his clipboard.

Harry takes the dismissal for what it is and tries desperately not to dig at Merlin further or bat at the medic still buzzing around him.  He does volunteer a tidbit for Merlin that’d he’d forgotten to tell him before just then foolishly, or more like the raging headache he had prevented him from thinking too hard on anything.  He wouldn’t admit to it of course but he does appear the tiniest bit sheepish when he tells Merlin the young man he encountered had an accent.

Merlin levels him with a look, “…And?”

“He didn’t seemed too keen on hiding it either, rather cocky of him.”  Harry says wondering at the memory becoming clearer.

Dryly Merlin says, “Aye, other than his apparent _cockiness_ , can ye place the accent or not?”

Harry blinked, “South East London I believe.”

“So close?” Merlin frowned, “You can’t be certain he wasn’t faking it.”

“It seemed very natural if he was.  It’s _something_ , Merlin.”

“Aye.”  Merlin sighs.  He does move his search to focus on that area having his homemade algorithms go through millions of footage for the past five years. It was going to take hours and meanwhile he wasn’t just there to help the medicine go down.  “We think there’s a connection between Valentine and the dozens of disappearing world leaders.  I’ve put together a cover for you while you were taking your nap.”

Harry is unfazed by the shift and is honestly a little grateful for something to do, “Excellent, we’ll be getting a face to face then?”

“Well, that was the original plan.  Offer you up ripe for the kidnapping.  But with our young friend running around killing people before we can talk to them Arthur isn’t wanting to risk the operation.  We don’t know if we’re being followed or how they’re tracking us.  Whoever “they” are.  Harry, Kingsman has been breached, we don’t know who we can trust.”  The “except each other” is not said but understood by the both of them.

“We can’t stop investigating Valentine, Merlin.”  Harry looks angry enough that the little medic finally gets the message and leaves the two to their conversation.  Harry gets to his feet, he’s still somewhat woozy and does a damned good job of not showing it, and pulls on his jacket.

“I’m not saying we should.  We just have to change our plans, our procedures.”

“But Arthur thinks we should.”

“That he does.”

Harry scrutinizes Merlin for a long silent moment, “Did he make an _order_?”

Merlin regards him just as coolly right back, “…No.”

Harry buttons up his jacket and smiles when he considers himself put back together, “Shall we?”

The tech wizard doesn’t look nearly as excited and says in a tired voice very familiar to Harry, “We shall.”

 

tbc

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I may have Eva Green in mind when I’m writing Morgan and that may be because I’m a little in love with her, not gonna lie, but there was also her role in Camelot so maybe it’s just fitting.

 

Chapter 4

 

Morgan, aka Morgan La Fay, aka The Best (said so on a mug Eggsy bought her as blatant bribery), had been erasing the Unwin’s trails for approximately half of her entire career.  It was a fulltime job and not always particularly easy not with Merlin always searching for them like the eye of Sauron.  She had to respect how dauntless the man was and how very keen.  She did not, however, appreciate how bloody hard he made her job.  Morgan will admit once or twice she had a hand in some Amazon orders of Merlin’s getting misplaced.  Her namesake _was_ known for being a little vindictive.  Anyway, Morgan was maybe a tiny bit complacent when it came to Merlin and the Unwins, her programs were after all the best on the planet.  Intuitive, unhackable, created specifically for the purpose of keeping Eggsy safe so that he and his family could continue living in the area rather than, say, Kiev, which was where Morgan suggested they live.  Michelle was decidedly not a fan of that plan and the Lady wanted her future sword close.  That all being said, unhackable did not mean infallible and really it’s the boy’s fault for getting emotional.  Just because his Galahad was in trouble didn’t mean he couldn’t take the extra few seconds to cover his face.  Honestly.  Quite simply Merlin beat her to the punch, he was one step ahead of her this time and as fast as she could erase Eggsy’s images on every speck of the millions of camera’s in all the cities Eggsy frequented, Merlin was just a little faster.

Kingsman had Eggsy.  Well, they had Gary London.  The alias had been solid for years, now it had to go into the burn pile.  They also had his family or would soon.  Mordred and Eggsy were at their flat presently gathering Michelle and little Daisy up to come stay at HQ until the matter was all sorted.  Mordred was going to love having a baby running around, Morgan on the other hand could not think of anything worse.  The inevitable high-pitched wailing and the sticky jam-hands to come made her shudder.  They didn’t even have jam but Morgan was sure the child was somehow going to have jam all over her hands.  What worried Morgan as much as the pitter patter of little feet or the Kingsman having Eggsy’s face was the Kingsman having _Michelle’s_ face.  She unlike her children could be traced back to her true identity just using facial recognition.  The woman had aged well and was still easily recognizable from old photographs.  Morgan was sure Merlin was already on it.

Kingsman would know the Unwins were still around.  As each second passed by Morgan was waiting for the notification on the Kingsman system about the Unwins.  Except it never came, the more time passed the more suspicious Morgan grew.  Eventually, just as Eggsy and Mordred strolled into her domain sans Mother and child, she sends Lancelot an encrypted inquiry on just what the fuck is going on.  She sends a look to Eggsy that says the same thing without any actual words.

“Mum and flower are up top having a cuppa.”  Eggsy answers far too in-tune with his colleagues micro-expressions.

Eggsy’s mother had always known who their guardian angels were.  She did not appreciate the Queensman putting her son in the same position as his father but she never forgave Kingsman for not keeping her husband alive in the first place.  She had not forgiven Harry Hart and hell did she have a few choice words for Eggsy and Morded on the ride down when they told her their cover had been blown saving Hart’s life. Using the rearview mirror Eggsy watched Mordred ignore the whole thing choosing rather to play peak-a-boo with Daisy from behind the car seat while his Mum listed all the dumb shit Eggsy could have done instead of saving Hart and risking his own life.  It was not a fun ride.  Unless you were Daisy.

Eggsy wasn’t all that broke up about the whole thing, it’s not like he could have just left Harry there.  Everyone else seemed to have a different opinion on the matter but the Lady hadn’t made him cut off a pinkie finger or anything so anyone else’s opinion didn’t really matter.  Rationally he knows he shouldn’t care as much as he does, but really, caring too much had always been Eggsy’s problem.  A poor quality for an Excalibur.  Then again if you would ask Mordred his favorite trainers weren’t very Excalibur-like either, some things just couldn’t be helped.

Mordred is chatting to Morgan about baby-proofing the rec-room because apparently other agents have been laying around miscellaneous weaponry and Michelle was already low-key freaking the fuck out but Eggsy can tell Morgan is doing that thing she does when she’s listening to someone else over comms but keeps looking at the person talking to her.  Mordred hadn’t figured out the difference yet and Eggsy was never going to tell him of his own free will. 

Abruptly Morgan’s frown becomes sharper noticeably enough for Eggsy to become concerned, “Something wrong, bruv?”

Morgan blinks slowly and her eyes focus on him, “Kingsman networks haven’t been running specs on your face.”

Eggsy drums his fingers against the cool metal of Morgan’s work table.  Gadgets of all shapes and types are strewn across in a very specific orderly disorder, he’s careful not to touch any of them, “They found out about the mole then?”

Morgan catches on to his leap in logic immediately, “It was inevitable they would.  That’s not the problem.  Merlin isn’t running your face using Kingsman resources.  According to Lancelot no one even knows they have any image of you at all.  As far as she’s aware not even Arthur was alerted. They aren’t trusting anybody with this, the King must have given them a reason to doubt or your Galahad is smarter than I gave him credit for.”

Eggsy’s face burns and he mumbles, “Ain’t _my_ Galahad.”  Mordred smirks trying to suppress a full-grown grin and Morgan simply levels him with a knowing look.

“Problem is,” Morgan pushes past Eggsy’s discomfort, “I don’t know what Merlin is up to if he’s too paranoid to use Kingsman.  He’s good, it’s going to take me longer than we have to hack his personal servers.”

Mordred shrugs, techno babble was never his forte, “Then we do this the old fashioned way.  Eggsy did a good job of trailing Hart without him noticing up until the end there with the explosion, not your fault by the way kid.  We can spare a few agents to keep an eye on their movements outside of Kingsman.”

“Hat tricks and binoculars,” Morgan shakes her head disgust clear, “It’s like the Stone Ages.”

“Well I can—”

“No Excalibur,” Morgan interrupts, “You’re not going to be on Galahad’s detail.  I’m sure Mordred can manage that just fine.  You have a princess to find and a prime minister to kidnap.  Valentine almost has all the support he needs and we need to put a cap on this.  The mishap with the Kingsman has him on high alert, he’s trying to hurry, getting sloppy.  It will only be an advantage for a short time.”

Eggsy sighs, “When do you need me on it?”  His mum and sister are upstairs drinking tea and eating pastries, he hates leaving them so soon after uprooting their lives.

“Yesterday.”

“Yeah, alright.   Names and the blah blah blah.”  Eggsy makes grabby hands in the air that earns him matching disapproving looks from both Morgan and Mordred.

Morgan passes him a smooth sheet of clear heavy plastic the size of an ipad on which all the information about princess Tilde and her closest councilor was streaming almost too fast to comprehend if you weren’t used to it.  Eggsy was.  His ability to kill wasn’t the only thing about him that was off the charts, when Morgan was in the mood for it she would sometimes let him into the lab to tinker for hours on end.  She often thought that if the boy hadn’t had his whole spy career planned out for him he would have easily made a home for himself in the tech department working directly under Morgan’s supervision. The boy was definitely bright enough for it.  Eggsy had all the new mission details memorized in minutes—to Morgan’s secret pride.

“The boogeyman treatment then?”  Eggsy asks shutting the “tablet” down with a flick of his fingers.

Mordred hums, “I like that one.”

Eggsy grins, “ _You_ would.”

“I’ll leave it to your personal preferences, Excalibur.  Command’s only request is that it’s done quickly, quietly, and by any means necessary.  Understood?”

“Yes, Morgan.”  Eggsy doesn’t quiet huff but it’s a near thing avoiding it only because it was wise never to push Morgan La Fay any more than necessary.  “Mind looking after me flower and mum, Mordy?”

“Of course.”  Mordred replies easily, “Long as I’m here.  Don’t worry, we’ll set them up proper safe and sound.  I think Orgeluse is setting up a playroom for Daisy in the rec room.”

“The doc doesn’t have to do that.”

Mordred shrugged, “She wants to.  I think she gets bored stitching us up.  The baby will be a good distraction, one that doesn’t involve her usual hobby of mixing up those nasty toxins of hers.”

Morgan made a face, “I had to quarantine the whole east wing last time she messed with those damned chemicals.”

“That’s not reassuring at all.”  Eggsy complained.

“I promise no one’s poisoning the baby Excalibur.  Off with you, if you hitch a ride now you’ll be in, where is it?  Ah, Sweden four hours before dawn.  You heard Morgan, time is of the essence.”  Mordred looks earnest and sincere in the face of Eggsy’s patented squinty-eyed suspicion.  

In the end Eggsy leaves Mordred to it because honestly there wasn’t anyone he trusted more than that shoe polish-loving bastard plus Mordy was right about time being an issue.  Eggsy was a professional and Valentine was looking madder by the day.  Eggsy wasn’t the only agent being run ragged but he was the one with perhaps with the most responsibility other than Gwenivere herself and no one but the Lady had the clearance to know what she was up to exactly.  The plane ride to Sweden Eggsy spends trying to sleep.  Sleep had become a very precious and hard to capture rarity lately so much so Eggsy was reverting to war-time sleep patterns drilled into him from his Marine days, which was basically go to sleep whenever where ever you can because you never know what might happen next.   Eggsy loved his job but there were days he would prefer drifting off to the sound of nearby mortar rounds exploding rather than his current sense of doom that encapsulated all of his actions lately…and thoughts of Harry, er, _Galahad_ , liked to keep him up wondering all kinds of ideas he knew he should squash viciously but could only ever somewhat succeed in doing.

Eggsy wanted to think his preoccupation had more to do with the man being the one to come tell him his dad died a hero and gave him the medal that hung next to his heart than Harry looking fucking _fit_ in that bloody suit of his.  Eggsy wanted to groan and disappear into the comfy little coach standard on all Queensman jets, he used to be so good at lying to himself.  When had that changed?  Probably the day he got this bloody job and Morgan gave him a handgun that responded to his own palm print.  That had been a day for the books.  He was still a bit in awe of everything.  Mordred often said Eggsy’s unlimited amount of enthusiasm was starting to make him feel old but he said it with a soft sort of smile that made Eggsy positively beam back. 

Yawning, Eggsy curls into a small ball on the couch and actually gets a whole hour of uninterrupted sleep.  He wakes up to a soft blanket draped over him from mysterious origins, the team of techs on their way to Russia pretend like that have no idea where it came from and generally keep their distance from the infamous/famous Excalibur.  Eggsy had a reputation of being simultaneously soft-spoken and rather sweet but then again stories were told about the time Excalibur did a rescue mission all on his own against fifty or so (the number always changed depending on the story teller) enemy combatants.  Not only did he complete the mission but he slaughtered each and every person who stood in his way, he came back to HQ still dripping with blood and a jagged grin.  Then there were the stories of the impossible shots taken from a kilometer away over all kinds of obstacles.  The sword reached far indeed.  Eggsy wasn’t really aware of his reputation, he only ever did what he had to getting the job done the way the Lady required.

There was also a steaming cup of fresh earl grey on the end table for him that nobody wanted to take credit for either.

“Cheers.”  Eggsy lifts the cup to the whole room and hides a smile behind it. 

The tea does a good job of clearing the cobwebs between his ears and Eggsy steels himself for his absolute least favorite part of preparing for a long mission.  Kingsman wore glasses.  Queensman didn’t like putting all their eggs in one basket like that so their agents had a trifecta of devices that reported what they saw and heard on missions.  One was a genuine platinum watch custom made for each agent with a coded designation on the back that made it seem like the watch was a sentimental piece rather than a listening device.  Secondly is a tracker/comm system  imbedded in his head that could probably be seen as a bit sinister, at least theirs weren’t rigged to explode though they did make losing contact with HQ near impossible.  Thankfully agents could deactivate the comms using a code connected to a device of Morgan’s own design.  The tracker however was permanent and always on.  Eggsy almost balked when he was recruited and the first thing they did was slice his head open.  Lastly was an ultra-thin nearly indestructible contact lenses that worked as a silent HUD.  The contacts are what Eggsy hated, they weren’t uncomfortable per say, he just hated touching his own eyeball putting them in.  It freaked him out.  Prep time was mostly used by him staring at himself in the mirror psyching himself up to just put the fucking things in.  At least glasses just slipped on.  Harry looked real nice in them too.  And there he went again, thinking about Harry.  He pushes the thought away and takes an accidently huge gulp of his tea which he promptly chokes on.  Eggsy can feel his assumed badass-ness go down at least two notches in the eyes of the techs.

The jet lands in a little town near Stockholm often used as a waypoint for agents long enough to drop Eggsy off before it takes back to the skies.  Grinning Eggsy gives the jet a two-fingered salute as it leaves that only the pilot sees and waves cheerfully back despite the long trip still ahead of him.  Queensman ran a quaint little Inn in the town that catered to tourists as well as agents though tourists didn’t see the rooms hidden behind walls full of deadly toys or the underground garage equipped with Queensman standard vehicles.  Eggsy checked-in  physically unable to stop himself from obnoxiously dinging the little bell at the counter until a prim looking man with dark deep-set eyes appeared.  He gives Eggsy a hard look that shifts to the antique clock above the entryway door before rolling his eyes never losing his stony frown.  Like its Eggsy’s fault Queensman is a 24-hour organization, 2 am wasn’t even _that_ late.

“Agravaine, I see the Lady still has you benched.  Sorry about that mate.”  Eggsy tries for polite first.  Sort of polite anyway.

Agravaine nods, “Excalibur.” 

They stare at each other for a few seconds until Eggsy sighs, “Seriously?  You know who I am.  I’ve been here like a dozen bloody times.”

Agravaine continues to stare, the complete arse.  Eggsy mumbles an impressive list of obscenities while he digs around inside his jacket for his Queensman ID card which without the proper filters appeared to be blank.  Agravaine takes it from a scowling Eggsy and swipes the card through a slot that looks like a credit card reader but definitely was not.  He waits for validation on a screen Eggsy can’t see.  Eggsy contemplates leaning over the sacred barrier between them to take a peek but before he can show off his acrobatic abilities and snooping abilities in one Agravaine makes a sound of satisfaction and presents Eggsy with a brass key.

“Fully stocked, as usual Excalibur.  Perhaps leave it one piece this time.”  Agravaine returns Eggsy’s ID pointedly looking the younger man up and down, whatever he sees there makes his lip curl up just enough to be considered snobbish.

Eggsy lifts his chin, “Pleasure as always, Agravaine.”

Agravaine had never been happy with Eggsy being appointed the honor of Excalibur, he couldn’t deny the boy’s skill it simply boiled down to they disliked each other.  Agravaine had a Snape vibe to him that rubbed Eggsy the wrong why and Agravaine couldn’t stand Eggsy’s accent or his lack of appreciation for fine linens.  It was a thing.  Eggsy was used to people assuming shit about him for the way he talked and the clothes he wore on his downtime, as if either had anything to do with the intelligence of a person or the measure of their heart.  He’d learned long ago that anyone who judged who he was based on those things were the ones who needed to prove themselves better not the other way around.  That didn’t mean he didn’t like sticking it to those people whenever he got the chance though.

 “Pleasure indeed, Excalibur.”  Agravaine’s tone obviously implies the short conversation was anything but.

Smiling cheekily Eggsy makes an unnecessary amount of noise running up the wooden staircase to the second floor to his rooms.  He eyes the bed longingly when throws open the door, it had a quilt and everything—chocolate mint on the pillow too.  The thought of Agravaine going room to room putting candy on pillows brought enough joy to Eggsy that he forgot about wanting to lie down and roll himself into a human burrito.  No, he got to shove contact lenses in his eyes and chloroform an elderly politician.  Eggsy shook his head, his life sometimes.  He changes quickly into his favored black tac gear for stealth missions, unlike other agents Eggsy didn’t get to dress to the nines in a bespoke suit very often since he was usually in situations where he needed to blend into darkness.  Also it was hell getting blood out of those damned suits.  Bouncing off bullets?  That they could do but get one drop of blood on them and Mordred had an aneurism.  Like the man was in the bloody basement stitching them together himself.  Then again Eggsy had no idea what he did on the weekends so that might very well be the case.

The black cloth Eggsy wrapped around his lower face as a mask wasn’t the most practical of disguises he knew.  The scarf had a little bit of sentimental value from all the time Eggsy had spent covering his face with it from sandstorms while on deployment.  He had a pair of thigh holsters for twin beretta’s and altogether five knives all over his person in crafty places.  Eggsy mused it all seemed a bit overkill for a boogeyman job which was not actually chloroforming someone but it was uncomfortably close and sooo much worse.

Eggsy was in his room for fifteen minutes tops before heading to the garage to procure a sensible sedan that watchful eyes would easily look over.  He squeals his wheels a bit just tick off Agravaine on the way out.  One of these days Agravaine was probably not going to lift the garage door that split open the garage entrance in the ground behind the Inn just to see Eggsy smack into it.  Nothing that would kill him of course but Eggsy was certain it would give Agravaine a kick to see Eggsy behind the counter of one of the Queensman-run Inns because of something as stupid as running into a garage door.  Agravaine doesn’t do anything this time and Eggsy is speeding toward the coordinates displayed through his contact lenses realizing he forgot to eat the chocolate on his pillow. 

The prime minister of Scandinavia lives in a mansion, of course he does, when did they not?  This mansion however is one that reeked of old money and guard dogs.  Eggsy loved dogs, fucking _loved_ dogs,  he did not love sprinting for all he was worth across ten acres of open ground because said dogs were trained to take bites out of intrusive chav boys with spy training.  There was more security at the house than was normal as well, men with guns lurked around every corner looking bored.  Somebody was very uneasy with his recent world-changing decisions.  Rightly so, good people within Kingsman were looking to stop Valentine, while good people within Queensman were working to stop…well, all kinds of things really.  Eggsy makes it to the northern wing of the mansion without a scratch.  He jumps to a window sill and scales the whole wall to the rooftop.  A few security cameras gave away their positions with tiny dots of red light on the roof but only one was pointed on the actual roof top, assuming no one could possibly get up there without some sort of assistance.  People always assumed, they never looked up.  Up is where what’s going to kill you is lurking.  Alien and all its sequels taught that valuable lesson to Eggsy.  Prime minister Floberg probably never watched Alien.  Being forced to watch Sigourney Weaver be badass in space was hardly torture and probably a waste of time and resources but Eggsy was not above tying Floberg down to educate him.  Education was important. For now Eggsy just needed to focus on slipping through numerous lavish corridors to the prime minister’s bedroom where he lay sleeping peacefully.  This was the bit that gave the “boogeyman treatment” its name.

Eggsy snuck into the master bedroom, he doesn’t displace a single fiber on the cushy carpets.  The door doesn’t squeak on the way in and a preliminary scan of the room reveals no bugs.  Floberg slept soundly, Eggsy stood in the shadows of the room to make sure he was too deep in slumber to wake up from a little jostling around.  This was the part that made Eggsy feel like a creep.  Standing in a stranger’s bedroom at night, essentially staring, it was right creeper behavior.  Or boogeyman behavior he supposed.  Satisfied Eggsy slinks forward and places his knee on the bed so he could hover over Floberg’s wrinkly bared neck.  Eggsy carefully retrieves a syringe from his utility belt.  The liquid inside had a faint violet hue that was bright even in the dark of the room.

“Carfeul now, Excalibur.”  Morgan’s voice gently reminds, “too much of that and he won’t be waking up again at all.”

Eggsy gives a thumbs-up to thin air and the swiftly sticks the needle into the prime minister’s neck.  Floberg doesn’t stir.  He would be unconscious for exactly twenty-four hours, now all Eggsy had to do was lug his body out and place him in a sound proof room as to not alert Valentine before the docs at HQ could get the explosive bits out of him.  Eggsy lifts him out of bed and onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, he notices an elegant white card on Floberg’s dresser.  Curiosity piqued Eggsy opens it, there in scrolling gold lettering around a purple pop art face of Vincent Valentine was an invitation to Valentine’s private residence for a charity event in a week.

“Ah,” he hears Morgan say, “Looks like Mordred gets to put you in a suit again after all.  But let’s see what our new friend will have to say first.  Get cracking Excalibur.”  Morgan knows Eggsy can’t say anything back for fear the body he was now currently strapping into a harness to toss out the window would blow up in his hands.  Underhanded is what it was.

Eggsy lowers the unconscious form of the prime minister down two stories before propelling down himself.  The guards are just as complacent as before and he’s able to get across the yard without alerting the Dobermans wandering the grounds.  Eggsy plops the prime minister in the trunk of his car two blocks away and heaves a sigh of relief.  For some reason the retrieval jobs were so much more stressful than the assassinations.  Eggsy wonders what that made him.

Mad?  Probably just a little bit.

“Morgan?”

“I’ve already detoured one of ours to pick you up, until then try not to…aggravate Agravaine.”

Eggsy grins, “I see what you did there.”

“I lower myself like this for you Excalibur, I do hope you appreciate it.”  Morgan replies in the tone of an indifferent librarian.

“I love you, bruv.”

“Shut up.”  Eggsy does.

Agravaine looks only slightly disappointed Eggsy returns to the Inn in one piece, the body slung over Eggsy’s shoulders gets a warmer welcome.  Eggsy dumps the politician in an interrogation room accessed through the laundry room of all places and makes his way back to his own room until his ride arrived.  This time Eggsy doesn’t forget the chocolate mint, and if he breaks into other rooms stealing the rest of the chocolate mints Agravaine set out then no one would know until he was long gone.

 

 

tbc

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your interest in this story! I really appreciate the kudos and comments you guys have left! I'm going to start regularly updating this fic after Cap 3 comes out but for now, finally, a new chapter, and a few more new Queensman agents.

 

**Chapter 5**

 

Prime Minister Floberg wakes up alone in a dark room with a single bright white light shining in his face and an extraordinary pain in his neck near his ear.  His unbridled panic sets in almost immediately, he jerks himself forward only to discover his wrists and ankles are strapped down to the metal chair he’s sitting in.  Floberg screams for help, struggles, and repeats the process until he tires himself out in about a rather pathetic fifteen minutes.  Eggsy and Morgan watch all this from the hidden camera in the interrogation room.  On another screen Morgan is running a trace on the tracker they pulled out of the Minister along with the explosives in him.  The man probably had no idea about the contingency plan tucked under his skin; Eggsy couldn’t find any sympathy within himself about it.  Morgan dug up some…unsavory little facts about the Minister while he was unconscious.  More than the usual shite politicians got away with, he belonged in the darkest, dankest dungeon Eggsy knew of or better yet a bullet to the fuckin’ head.

 Maybe later. 

Definitely later.

Another two hours pass before Morgan lets agent Dindrane into the room.  Interrogation was not Eggsy’s shtick, Dindrane however, it was her only thing and she was very good at it.  Eggsy was obviously not repelled by violence, he loved a good a fight and had no problem dropping the targets he was given but it was all very cut and dry, usually impersonal.  The way Dindrane operated felt quite personal, plus something about torturing a bloke all tied up just soured Eggsy’s stomach no matter how much the bastard deserved it.  He just didn’t have torture in him, Mordred said it was a good thing.  Eggsy tries not to think too hard on why.

Eggsy watches the HUD as Dindrane shuts off the light in the room blanketing it in complete dark.  A beat goes by then two softer lights come on, one over Floberg and the other illuminating the sharply dressed figure of Dindrane.  She’s a tall woman with slight shoulders and coffee coloured hair tied back into a perfect French braid.  Her skin is very dark but her eyes were light hazel, they complemented the earthy tones of her suit perfectly.  Under the light she looks like an angel, Floberg looks up at her hopefully then Dindrane grins.  Perfectly white teeth stretch into a reaper’s smile, Eggsy commits the look on the Minister’s face to memory when he realizes what kind of angel he was facing.

Eggsy doesn’t stick around to watch the rest.

What he does do is go find his sister.  Queensman had them set up in some nice quarters with everything they would possibly need and yet they’re both in the rec room watching a movie with Orgeluse.  The Queensman head of medical had them watching The Holy Grail of all things.  Daisy was asleep in her mother’s lap while Michelle was wide awake chuckling softly along with Orgeluse at the Black Knight’s onscreen antics.  His Mum’s eyes light up when she sees Eggsy, she makes a disapproving huff at the dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep.  Orgeluse narrows her eyes in a way that implied a check-up was due for him soon, fortunately for the moment the older woman simply moves to the side making room for Eggsy to relax with them under a fleece blanket.  The Holy Grail happened to be one of his favourite movies, even so Eggsy nods off ten minutes in.

He doesn’t dream of torture or long legs in fine suits, instead it’s a blissful sea of comforting void that he’s greeted with after a long day.  He would have liked to stay there in that state for a very long time.  The world’s never threatened in sleep.  Well, it was, but you didn’t _know_ it and that’s all that mattered.

Mordred wakes him up hours later via pouring a cup of cold tea over his head because the man is the devil and as much as Mordred humors Eggsy he makes it his life mission to prod at him whenever possible.  The tea is particularly cold on his skin that’s been warmed by the blanket someone wrapped him in and the heated room.  The only two places in the whole HQ that weren’t heated were the interrogation room and Morgan’s lab (which included the sprawling Queensman mainframe beneath the metal grated floor).  Eggsy theorized it had to do with Queensman training.  Sure, the organization was based on mostly bloodlines but you had to prove your worth.   None of that shooting your dog shite, what the fuck honestly, no, Queensman were trained for one year.  If by the end of that year you were worthy congratulations Queensman agent.  A part of that training was a solid month in the actual fucking Arctic.  If the regulation temperature inside Queensman was any indication no one remembered it fondly.  That was Eggsy’s theory anyway.  Snow trauma.

Back to the current trauma: Mordred is a fuckin’ arsehole.

“Rise and shine, lil’ egg.”  Mordred cajoles nonchalant.  The cup dangles from his forefinger threatening to crack Eggsy over the head if it falls.

Eggsy jumps up and glares, “Is that a fuckin’ short joke?”  That he’s not really mad about his wet hair says more about his being so bloody tired than anything else.

“Yes.”  Mordred flips the cup around his finger like a American cowboy would a pistol, “Get up, you and I have an assignment.”

“I just got back, Mordy.”  Eggsy groans, it’s actually been hours.  He shakes his head a bit, purposefully throwing tea droplets Mordred’s way.  The drops land just short of the smug bastard.

“Do I look like I care? This is time-sensitive.”

“What is!?”

Mordred flicks a piece of cardstock at him out of seemingly fucking nowhere like a bloody magician then smiles much too happily, “Shopping, Excalibur, we’re going shopping.”

The card lands at Eggsy’s feet and he recognizes the logo for Valentine’s party, the name on it wasn’t Floberg’s but rather one of his own aliases.  Morgan had secured him an invite all thanks to Dindrane’s efforts with Minister Floberg.  She had sent along the rest of Floberg’s confession to a tech pad in the common room, Eggsy reaches for it and swipes through while Mordred goes on.

“You are now a young lord with a sudden windfall after the death of your whole family under mysterious circumstances and now you wish to put all that money into causes you believe in.  You’re young, smart, and very rich: Valentine’s favourite type of person, and the perfect bait but I’m not letting you anywhere near him dressed like that.”

Eggsy scoffs, “Have you seen the way that lunatic dresses, I’d fit in well enough.”

Mordred arches an eyebrow at him and gives him a _look_ , “Because of your garish fashion sense or because of your sociopathic tendencies?”

“Oi, rude.” 

He definitely was nowhere near Valentine’s level of crazy.  They’d always known Valentine was kidnapping powerful people, knew he was a danger to the world and had done extreme things for the “greater good”. Culling the world wasn’t that far of stretch for him, did leave Eggsy a bit sick and dizzy at the thought.  All because of global warming, like the rich arsehole had the right to decide who lived and who died.  Billions of people, while he and his rich friends were safe and sound.

 Fuckin’ hell. 

Of course Floberg, the absolute tosser, didn’t know how exactly the plan was going to be implemented only that the chip in his bloody head was supposed to keep him safe.  Good fucking luck with that now, bruv.

“Get your shoes on.  You know your Galahad might be there…”  Mordred sets the cup down on the rec room counter next to the sink and starts walking away knowing Eggsy would stumble after.

Eggsy’s ears couldn’t possibly get any hotter and he knows they’re probably an embarrassing shade of scarlet, “I hate you.  You know that right?”

Mordred smirks, “Undoubtedly.  I was thinking a three-piece, possibly even a tux considering the venue.”

Eggsy continues like Mordred hadn’t even spoke, “So, so much.  You can’t even imagine.”

Mordred gets what he wants, per usual.  They take a nondescript black car from the base’s garage to a tailor’s down the street from Kingsman.  Maybe they were both bloody lunatics, but Mordred insisted Saville Row was the best place to get outfitted for the occasion and Kingsman have never been good at looking into their own back yard.  If they were Queensman might not even exist today considering their function.  Eggsy liked brazen on Mordred, he should wear it more often.  Still they weren’t _stupid_.  Their eyes were sharp and they avoided garnering any unneeded attention.  They were spies, sometimes, they knew how to act like it.

The shop of choice was called Gieves and Hawkes, the place was much more airy than some of the tailors on the street and a bit more ostentatious.  Lots of white crown moldings, glass cases, and scrolling wrought-iron everywhere.  Just Mordred’s type of place really.  The narrowed-eyed gentleman manning the counter smiles at Mordred, familiarity flashing in his eyes.  Eggsy had cleaned up somewhat in the car drive over but he still wasn’t runway ready by any means however the man regarded Eggsy professionally without a single sneer which was not what he was used to at all.  Most people judged Eggsy on his clothes first, his accent second, and then didn’t bother getting to know him anymore after those damning qualities were observed.  It didn’t bother him.  At least he tried not to let it bother him.

Besides, one did need to cultivate a fine taste in fashion when one spent as much time on roofs as he did.  Clothes could be important and Eggsy was aware that his sense of style did not jive with the types of people he had to sometimes rub elbows with.  When that happened it was best to leave things up to Mordred, much to the older man’s delight.  Faster than Eggsy could ask, “Is that really sharkskin?” the tailor, named Charles, herds him into a fitting area, gets his measurements and begins holding up some swaths of fabric against Eggsy’s flank for Mordred’s approval.

The tailor, er, _Charles_ holds up a dark grey piece sporting a gold plaid design Eggsy immediately takes a shine to.

Mordred makes a face, “No.”

“Oh, c’mon get off it!”

“I rather think something crafted from this would suit him quite nicely, sir.”  Charles chimes in with a poorly concealed smile at Mordred’s look of betrayal.

“Fuckin’ A it would.  Ta, mate.”

The tailor inclines his head, pleased in his own dignified way.  Eggsy grins in return and Mordred knows when he’s lost a battle.  That bloody colour scheme was going to haunt Mordred for the rest of his life.  Possibly beyond.  The tailor suggests a white waistcoat , Mordred has to sit down.  The universe was conspiring against him, that was the only explanation.

“Don’t look so glum, Mordy.”  Eggsy teases, “Oi, you think they have anything to match my train—”

“Absolutely not.  You won’t be wearing those cast-offs of Mercury anyway.  Proper oxfords, if you please.”  Mordred says to Charles who only has to look at Eggsy’s feet to determine his size.  _That’s_ skill.

Eggsy can’t help but shake his head, “No one else could get away with the shite you say, bruv.”

Ever the epitome of humility Mordred replies, “Of course they couldn’t.”

In the end they settle on a three-piece suit in a rather modern cut that makes Mordred’s face flicker between an obvious cringe and despair.  It only worsens when Eggsy bulldozes over him completely when he picks out a gold silk tie that actually pulls the ensemble together perfectly.    Out of nowhere the tailor who has apparently taken quite a shine to Eggsy summons a set of cufflinks.  They’re fucking tiny little wings.  Eggsy gets so excited it’s almost impossible for Mordred to be peeved.  Almost.

They’re promised everything would be finished in two days, which was incredible but Mordred was a priority patron.  He orders “the works” on the suit, Eggsy doesn’t know what that means however it could have been anything from bullet-proofing to using the very best materials.  Knowing Mordred probably both.  Plenty of high-end craftsman added bulletproofing these days.  All those celebrities and politicians were so paranoid.  Couldn’t blame them really, especially now with the mass disappearances.  The general public seemed unaffected by the whole ordeal.  Like it was a minor morbid curiosity rather than the tide going out to fuel the distant tidal wave it really was.  Eggsy didn’t hold it against them.  They were just regular people doing regular things, there was no reason to be thinking on that scale when they had mouths to feed and bills to pay.

The world needed regular people.  Just normal.  Eggsy loved the normal in his life as much as the rooftop parkour and…occasionally fuckin’ warranted death-dealing.  Fuckin’ sanctioned and everything, he swears.  Except for that one guy…but that was totally an accident.  Mostly.  Point was Eggsy would fight for them.  Fucking A he would, every time.

Outside the shop Mordred gives Eggsy a considering look, or more accurately his hair, “Now, what if we—”

“No one’s touching my fuckin’ hair, bruv.”

“Maybe just a little trim?  Honestly, Excal—”

Eggsy  jutted his chin out stubbornly, Mordred meets him glare for glare.

Eventually Mordred looks heavenward shaking his head, “Fine, fine.  But I’m styling it.  All you lads these days use the same horrid hair gel.  It’s a disgrace.”

“Whatever you say Mordy.”

Eggsy does not pace the halls of the Queensman base in anticipation for Valentine’s party for days on end.  He doesn’t refill all the tea shop’s loose leaf containers on his own accord. He definitely doesn’t help clean Morgan’s lab space which was normally unbearable because the woman was very particular on how to handle everything and where to put each individual scrap of tech.  He for fuckin’ sure doesn’t stare at himself in the mirror because Mordred made Eggsy self-conscious about his hair, just a little bit, Mordred did it one purpose that cock.  Those are things Eggsy did not do.  Eggsy was a pretty good liar.

While he’s not low-key giving himself anxiety The Lady orders a team to go with him to meet Valentine face to face.  A support unit is often deployed with Eggsy on vital missions with too many unknown variables.  Often in the form of two agents in particular, together they were nicked-named The Castle.  Separately they were codenamed Ygerne and Lyonesse.  Ygerne was broad and tall where Lyonesse was short and delicate-featured.  Lyonesse was the one with the higher body count.  She said it was because of her ability to hide in air vents.  Eggsy didn’t ask her to explain that.  Lyonesse was also married to Kingsman’s agent Gareth.  He had no idea about her.  Lyonesse was just that good.  Ygerne was the battering ram, in an out and out brawl surrounded by enemies on all sides Eggsy could ask for no one better.  But it wasn’t the prospect of a fight that was making him eye the lavender tea.  He used to be so good at fake confidence.  Then Harry fuckin’ Hart happened.

Eggsy knows he shouldn’t care so much.  He keeps telling himself that and while he realizes he’s a very specific type of stubborn he thinks eventually it’ll sink in.

So of fucking course that intention (hope?) gets blown to bloody bits the night Valentine’s party rolls around and Eggsy, comfortably between Ygerne and Lyonesse dressed in his suit and his hair combed to a part on the side, gets his first look at Harry fuckin’ Hart in his stupid fuckin’ suit.  It was easy to spot him, seeing as they were the only ones at Valentine’s mansion.  Eggsy and Co waited just out of sight as Valentine’s right hand woman welcomed Harry inside personally.  There were no other cars, or people lingering outside nor did there seem to be much activity inside.

 The placed screamed new money.  Eggsy was aware Valentine had made his own fortune through his genius, before Eggsy realized the man was insane he’d admired him for it.  Not many people pulled themselves up from nothing, not many were given the opportunity. 

Lyonesse frowns at their surroundings, everything shouted _trap_ , “I shall find a way in on my own, Excalibur.”

Eggsy nods his agreement and looks up at Ygerne, “So I guess you’re my date tonight.”

Ygerne is unapologetically in heels that match her red dress and thus even taller than Eggsy than usual, she gives him a wry look then charitably offers Eggsy her arm taking point in leading them both to the door of the lion’s den.  He looks every bit of a kept boy no doubt to Valentine’s deadly henchwoman who opens the door for them as well.

Eggsy looks down, the young woman has swords for legs.  Swords.  For.  Legs.  Eggsy remembers the remains of the Kingsman agent split in two and makes the connection, when he drags his eyes up because even if she is a killer he feels rude for staring the woman is smirking.

“Lord Somerset?”

“Indeed.”  Eggsy puts on a very practiced Mordred-approved posh accent, “As well as my plus one Lady Brienne.”  Ygerne shifts subtly at his side, her arm clenches around his arm painfully.  Apparently she got the reference, he was going to have to earnestly explain later that it was a compliment.  Brienne was his favorite character on Game of Thrones.

“Of course, Mr. Valentine welcomes you,” the woman bears her teeth in a sharp grin, “this way.”

Eggsy felt that there should only be allowed a certain amount of pop art in one’s house and Valentine had exceeded his limit just in the foyer.  Maybe if it wasn’t all Valentine’s face and pandas he wouldn’t have minded so much or noticed but he was a young lord anyway, it was fine to let some snobbery at art choices show on his face.  Though he really wasn’t thinking it was going to matter how good he played it, that he, Ygerne, and Harry were the only ones here was damning.  Eggsy would play Valentine’s game for now, whether or not Harry was going to be willing was the real question.  For some reason he had faith in the man.  It was stupid to, but he did.

They are swiftly lead into the entrance of a dining hall and greeted by the man himself.  Valentine was just a tall as he seemed on the television.  Ygerne was taller.

“Gazelle!  Get our guests some drinks!”  Valentine orders the woman not unkindly, maybe something more akin to excitement in his tone, “Welcome, welcome, so glad to have you here.”

“We’re happy to be here.”  Eggsy says shaking Valentine’s hand with a firm grip.  Softly from hidden speakers Eggsy could make out the Rolling Stones playing.  Sympathy for the Devil.  A bit on the nose.

“I heard about your family, my deepest apologies,”  Valentine goes for sincere, surprisingly he almost achieves it.

“Thank you, I appreciate it, however there’s no reason why some good can’t come of it.  That’s why we’re here after all.”

“Exactly!”  Valentine claps him on the shoulder, “That’s the kind of thinking the world needs!”

Suddenly Gazelle is at their side again close enough for Eggsy to be able to smell her faint perfume, something spicy he can’t place.  She gracefully offers them both two glasses of champagne; they take the glasses and pretend to sip from them.  Gazelle is the only help on hand in sight.  It’s unnerving in such a large house.  Gazelle was unnerving enough all on her own.

“May I ask where the other guests are?”  Eggsy looks around making a show of being confused.  There was no reason to feed Valentine’s suspicions.  

“Well, you and another guest offered _so_ much, you stood out…despite the fact I’ve never heard of either of you before.  I make it my business to know certain people, you see.  I figured you deserved more of a one-on-one rather than one of my usual donor-parties.”

“Quite generous, of you, Mr. Valentine.”  Ygerne comments in a warm tone.

“Please just Valentine.”  He hasn’t stopped smiling. “I hope you all are hungry.”

“Famished.”  In fact Eggsy was hungry most of the time.  He burned a lot of calories in his job.

“Perfect!  If you please follow me and I’ll introduce you to our other Big Donor.”  Valentine had a lot of energy.  From the way he walked to the way that he talked he exuded an air of palpable momentum.  Wheels turned around men like Valentine. 

Valentine throws the big oak dining room doors open revealing a long table decked out in finery.  The arched ceiling to floor windows were draped in velvet.  At the table on the right side of the head seat was a blank-faced Harry Hart.  He regards Eggsy with polite curiosity and nothing more.  Eggsy returns the favor.

Harry stands, all gracious formality, when Valentine makes the introductions.  Valentine’s demeanor was slightly different toward Harry, there was more suspicion in him.  Harry bows and kisses Ygerne’s hand however his eyes flick to the side and slide up Eggsy’s form from the tips of his polished shoes to the crown of his styled head.  The only reason Eggsy doesn’t blush is because he’s a fucking professional.

It was going to be an awkward dinner.

 

 

 

_tbc_

 


End file.
